Fridays
by elemesnedene
Summary: Friday afternoon therapy with Severus Snape.  Totally random.
1. Session 6

**Fridays**

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This is just some short randomness. I'm sure this idea has been done, but oh well. I was bored, and I didn't have the energy to work on my other fanfic. This only took me about five minutes to write. No idea whether I'll continue it. I might if I get any positive response. 

I own nothing you recognize.

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Chapter 1: Session 6

God, I hate Fridays.

Most people like Fridays.

Then again, most people don't have to watch Severus Snape sneer at them for an entire hour every Friday afternoon.

I blame Dumbledore for this. He called me up at the beginning of the school year and asked me if I'd be willing to counsel Severus Snape. I was reluctant, of course, but Dumbledore begged me and promised to triple my fee. So I gave in.

I'm stupid.

No amount of money is worth this.

When Snape came in for our first session, he took one look at me, said "I'll be leaving now," and walked back toward the door. I was a Gryffindor, you see. And he was one of my professors. He hated me. Surprise, surprise.

At that point, I gave him a note from Dumbledore, which the Headmaster had told me to present to Snape in the event that he caused any trouble. I don't know what the note said, but it pissed Snape off big time. After reading it, he walked back into my office and sat down on the couch.

I'd been rehearsing that first meeting for days, and I'd decided that the best way to go about it would be to act naturally. Talk to him as if we were on the same level: like equals. I figured that'd be the best way to ensure that I maintained professional control of the situation.

I was wrong.

I said, "Well, Severus, it's a pleasure to see you again."

He glared at me and said, "The fact that we are not in the classroom does not change the fact that you were once one of my students. You will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir' at all times. Do you understand?"

I stared down at my feet and said, "Yes, sir..."

So much for maintaining control.

He glared at me for a while, and after about five minutes, I mustered the courage to say, "Well, Professor, how are you feeling today?"

He sneered at me and asked, "Is that my cue to lie down on the couch and start blubbering about how terrible my childhood was and how it scarred me for life and turned me into an evil old bat?"

"...Um, no?"

I tried to make conversation after this. I asked a lot of questions.

It didn't work.

He sneered at me for an hour. A whole hour. The sneer never faltered. I actually wondered, at one point, whether his face had gotten stuck like that. I even wondered whether he'd died, and I just hadn't noticed yet. He didn't move a muscle. He seriously might have died. No one would know. Do you know how rarely he blinks? It's creepy.

We've had four sessions since then. He still hasn't said a word. He just sneers. For an hour. Every Friday.

I hate Friday.

I owled Dumbledore a couple of days ago and told him how poorly Snape's therapy was going. Dumbledore suggested I raise the issue of Harry Potter, who is currently in his second year at Hogwarts. This seems like a stupid I idea. But since_ I'm _out of ideas, I guess I'll try it anyway.

He walks into my office and sits down. He doesn't say anything. As usual. I smile and say, "Good afternoon, Professor."

Sneer.

"Have you had a good week at school?"

Sneer.

"...I... was thinking that, perhaps, we should discuss some of your students."

Sneer.

"...I wondered... for example, how Mr. Potter is doing?"

He's still sneering, but... Oh my god! It speaks: "Potter is doing very poorly, Mrs. Townes. Very poorly indeed."

"I see... and what makes you say that?"

"He is alive."

"...And that's bad?"

"From my perspective, yes."

"...I see..."

"I tried to poison his owl on Monday."

"Oh... really?"

"Yes. Got the wrong owl. Minerva's pissed."

"Professor McGonagall's owl? You poisoned her owl?"

"Yes."

"Does she realize you were the one who poisoned it?"

"I doubt it. I tied a Gryffindor scarf around it's neck and hung it from the rafters of the owlery."

"...Oh... really...?" Oh my god. He's completely deranged!

"Yes. With any luck, she'll think it was Potter."

"Why would she think that?"

"Because I also shoved a Snitch down it's throat."

"...I see... Well... er, perhaps we should talk about something else. Are there any other things that are bothering you at school?"

"Lockhart."

"Gilderoy Lockhart? The author?"

"I hate him."

"Perhaps... perhaps you should find a way to channel this hatred into something productive."

"I shaved his head last weekend. While he was sleeping. Does that count?"

"...You... shaved his head?"

"And took pictures."

"I see... and what are you going to do with these pictures?"

"I plan to paste them all over the school sometime within the next week."

"Is that... really worth your time, Professor? Don't you think Professor Dumbledore will just take the pictures down as soon as you put them up?"

"Not if I use a permanent sticking charm. I'm thinking of putting up a life-size photo in the Great Hall."

"Okay... What did Professor Lockhart do when you shaved his head?"

"I was told that he -- ah -- _cried like a little bitch_. For two full days. Until Madam Pomfrey came and regrew his hair."

"Does anyone know that you were the one who shaved him?"

"Yes."

"How do they know?"

"I told them."

"Who did you tell?"

"Everyone."

"Even the students?"

"Yes."

"And how did people react?"

"I got 'thank you' cards from most of the staff and about a third of the student body."

"I see. Well, Professor, do you have any idea _why _you have these hateful feelings toward Professor Lockhart?"

"I fell asleep during a staff meeting one night, and he tied my hair into a French braid."

"Well, I can see how that would be annoying, but it didn't really cause any harm, did it?"

"He didn't _tell _me he'd done it. And neither did anyone else. I didn't find out until breakfast the next morning when I noticed that everyone who walked into the Great Hall was laughing and pointing at my head."

"I see..."

"Tonight, I think I'm going to transfigure his face to look like a house elf."

"Yes... well... I'm sure that will be fascinating... Unfortunately, I believe our time is up, Professor."

Sneer.

"And you're scheduled for the same time next week, of course."

Sneer.

"...Well, then... see you next week..."

Sneer.

He doesn't say anything, but he sneers at me all the way to the door. God, he's insane. Please get out, please get out, oh my god, you're freaking me out! He's going, going, going...

He's gone.

Oh my lord, that was awful. I think I liked it better when he just sneered at me. Someone needs to put a permanent Silencing Charm on that man.

I hate Fridays.

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**Thanks for reading. Please review!**


	2. Session 7

**Fridays**

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Thank you sooo much to everyone who reviewed! I like the idea of Snape getting crazier and crazier, so I think I'll go that route. I also agree that I could have a lot of fun with Snape during Harry's third year, but since I _may_ decide to do this fanfic on a regular basis, I'm not going to rush it. I think I'll go ahead and squeeze some more material out of Lockhart. 

And... just so you know... this one is _beyond_ random. I had no idea what to write.

Oh, and I own nothing you recognize.

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Chapter 2: Session 7

It's Friday again, and there he sits.

On my couch.

Sneering.

He's been here for over half an hour. He hasn't said a word. He just... sits there. Sneering like there's no tomorrow.

Do you know how many times he's blinked since he came in here?

Twice.

I counted.

I wish he'd stop sneering. I wonder what would happen if I just sat here and sneered right back at him. I think I'm going to do it. But wait... I was in Gryffindor. Gryffindors don't know _how _to sneer. All the Slytherins sneer. I wonder if that's a requirement to get in. Maybe the Sorting Hat sits on top of your head and says, "Ah, I see great sneering potential here. SLYTHERIN!" Or maybe sneering is part of Slytherin Orientation... like, maybe they have Sneering 101, or something. Maybe they get back to the common room after the start of term feast, and they pull all the first years aside and teach them how to sneer, smirk, and _drawl _when they talk.

Well, I may not _be _a Slytherin, but I _watched _them sneer at me for seven years. I'm sure I can do it. Yes, let's see... I'll just raise the left side of my lip and curl it upward a bit and--

"Is there something wrong with your _lip_, Mrs. Townes?"

"What? Er, no, I..." That didn't go as planned. He caught me. Apparently Gryffindors aren't cut out for sneering. "No, I'm fine."

"_Good_. For a moment, I feared I was witnessing the beginning of a petit mal seizure."

"Oh... no. ...Well, er... how has your week been, Professor?"

"There was a poodle in my bed when I woke up this morning."

"...Excuse me?"

"Are you _deaf_, Mrs. Townes? I said there was a _poodle _in my bed."

"Oh. Yes, of course. A... poodle. And... what was it doing?"

"The moment I stood up, it latched onto my leg and -- ah -- _went to town_."

"Are you... are you saying that the poodle... _humped _your leg?"

"You're very _astute_." Sneer. "That is precisely what I am saying."

"I see... and what did you do with the dog?" I hope it didn't end up _pickled _in a _jar_.

"I tried to flush it down the toilet."

"...Oh. ...You say you _tried_? I assume something went wrong?"

"The filthy creature had too much fur. Clogged the pipe."

"The dog clogged the toilet...?"

"Yes. I tried to stomp on it, but it still refused to go down."

"Are... are you telling me that you actually put your _foot _in a _toilet _in an attempt to stomp on a _poodle_?"

"Yes. Why, what would you have done?"

"...Well, personally, I don't think I would have put the poodle in the toilet to begin with."

"Well aren't _you _special." Sneer.

"No, I just... nevermind. Continue with your story, Professor."

"There's not much else to tell. Ruined a perfectly good pair of boots."

"...Yes, I can see how that would be... irksome. So, what happened to the dog?"

"How the hell should I know? I left the room to get a plunger, and when I got back, the frilly little beast was gone."

"Oh." Thank god. That's probably the first (and last) furry animal that's ever survived a close encounter with Snape.

"I think it was Lockhart's animagus."

"...And why would you think that, Professor?"

"Because I passed the hospital wing on the way to lunch, and Lockhart was lying in a bed, looking as if his face had been smashed in."

"And... does this make you happy? To think that you harmed Professor Lockhart?"

"It _would _make me happy, if it weren't for the fact that if it _was _indeed Lockhart whose face I smashed, then that means it was _also _Lockhart who was _violating _my pants leg."

"That is... an excellent point." I wish this session would end. I think I may throw up soon.

"Do you know, Mrs. Townes, what Gilderoy Lockhart's boggart is?"

"No..."

"Well I do."

"...Okay. What is it?"

"A bad hair day."

"...What...?"

"His boggart is _a bad hair day_."

"...And how do you know this, Professor?"

"I put a boggart in his wardrobe and then hid under his bed to watch."

"And what... _exactly _did you see?"

"He opened his wardrobe (probably to look for diamond-studded_ hair clip_), and the boggart came out, looking exactly like Lockhart, except that his hair was all screwed up. Lockhart took one look at it and started screaming and sobbing. For _hours_. He missed all his classes that day."

"I assume, Professor, that if you were in his room, you _also _missed all of your classes that day?"

"Yes."

"What excuse did you give Professor Dumbledore?"

"I told him I'd been watching Lockhart cry for the past four hours. I started to elaborate, but Dumbledore held up his hand and said he didn't want to know. Then he asked me how therapy was going. I really don't see the connection..."

"...Well, how _do _you think your therapy is going, Professor?"

Sneer.

"Is it helping any?"

Sneer.

"Do you have anything, in particular, that you feel you'd like to accomplish during therapy?"

SNEER.

"...Perhaps we should talk about something else. Uh... so what happened with the photos you took of Professor Lockhart? Did you put them up all over the school?"

"I was going to, but Dumbledore confiscated them."

"I see..."

"I also stole a pair of Lockhart's underwear last night and filled them with--"

"Oh dear, I'm afraid our time's up, Professor!"

Sneer.

"...Uh... same time next week..."

Sneer.

Okay. Take a deep breath. He's about to leave. He'll be gone in a minute. It'll be okay. Stay calm. Oh, please get out... get out... please get out... Why is he still _looking_ at me? I wish he'd walk faster. Turn around, turn around... look the other way...

Oh my god. You're not going to believe this. He's walking _backwards_.

So that he can SNEER at me longer.

All the way to the door.

Go away... go away... almost gone... so close...

...Okay... he's gone now. I'm pretty sure sneering should be illegal. Or, at the very least, there should be a quota. No one should be allowed to sneer more than twenty times in one day. I'm going to send an owl to the Ministry. If they made sneering illegal, Snape would spend the _rest of his life _in Azkaban.

Just imagine how many poodles (and other small mammals) that would save.

I really hope that wasn't Lockhart's animagus. If Lockhart was willing to hump Snape's leg, then he needs therapy more than Snape does.

Well... maybe not. No one could possibly need therapy as much as Snape does.

But if I have to keep counseling him, _I _may need to seek therapy.

I'm glad he's always my last appointment on Friday. I'm going to need an entire weekend to wipe this _disgusted _look off my face. _Flushing poodles_... honestly.

Friday _sucks_. In a big way.

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As long as people keep reviewing, I suppose I'll keep writing. So if you're reading, let me know!


	3. Session 8

**Fridays**

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Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed! You know, I'm amazed that this hastily written little story gets more reviews per chapter than my other humor-fic, which I spend so much more time writing (and which, admittedly, I am rather fonder of), but I'm immensely pleased nonetheless. And I'm glad you guys are reviewing because, despite the fact that I am not normally a review whore, I _will_ be basing my decision to continue this fic on the number of reviews received. I find it somewhat difficult to write for some reason. Anyway, this chapter is longer because I decided to incorporate another character. When and if I update next time, the chapter will be a much shorter (and more reasonable) length. But, as always, a lot of this is dialogue. Starts out slow, but I rather like the ending. 

**Disclaimer**: None of this is mine, yada yada yada.

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**Chapter 3: Session 8**

"So. Which one of you would like to start, hm?"

I knew the answer to the question before I even asked it. One of the men sat at the far end of the couch, scowling at me as if I were a particularly loathsome insect that he'd discovered floating in one of his most prized potions, whereas the other wizard sat rather closer to his companion than was strictly necessary, grinning moronically and winking at me over and over again. His winking habit was so persistent, one would think someone had poked him in the eye recently.

"Oh, I'll start! I'm sure Severus would rather I went first, anyway – he's not _nearly_ as good at telling stories as I am. Then again, few people are!"

I watch Snape warily as he narrows his eyes malevolently at his companion. When Dumbledore owled me last Saturday and requested that I do a joint session with Severus Snape and Gilderoy Lockhart, he warned me to be especially vigilant. He had expressed the concern that an outbreak of violence was a distinct possibility. When I articulated my _very_ understandable reluctance, Dumbledore made an offer that no sane person would refuse: he took the fee he normally paid me for Snape's sessions (which is _already_ thrice what I usually charge for my services) and _quadrupled_ it. I immediately (and rather cheerfully) accepted the offer, but over the past few days, a feeling of dread began settling in my stomach. And now, the session has barely begun, and I'm already regretting my rashness in proceeding with the appointment. I should have backed out while I had the chance.

"Okay, Mr. Lockhart," I say, shaking off my concerns.

"Oh please," he says cheekily. "Go ahead and call me _Gilderoy_. I know you want to."

Wink.

"Okay… well, go ahead. What has brought you here today?"

"Oh, listen to her, Severus," says Lockhart slyly. "You understand what she's _really_ saying, of course?"

Snape glares at the ground but says nothing.

"I say, Severus – Severus, did you hear me? You of course catch the drift of what she's _actually_ asking, don't you?"

Still no response from Snape.

"Sevvy, are you listen—"

"Do _not_ call me that! I _detest_ that loathsome moniker, and if you utter it again, I _swear_ I will cast a Balding Charm on you!"

Lockhart emits a pathetic little yelp and returns his gaze to me quickly. I try (unsuccessfully) to repress a sigh and say, "Gilderoy, why don't you talk to _me_ rather than to Professor Snape? I understand that part of the reason you're here is… well… I've been told that the two you have a bit of a… communication problem."

Lockhart's face splits into a wide, toothy grin. "Aha! – you'd rather I talked to _you_, eh? But of course, Mrs. Townes. I expect you've been eagerly awaiting a chance to talk to me! It isn't as if you get many opportunities like this! After all, how often does a famous wizard like myself walk into your quaint little office?"

I grit my teeth and restrain myself from informing him that the Minister of Magic was in my 'quaint little office' three days ago. What a presumptuous little jackass! I'd scarcely even heard of this man before I started treating Snape!

"And if you're looking for an autograph—"

"Professor Snape," I say, interrupting the chattering buffoon, "why don't _you_ tell me why the two of you are here?"

He glares at me for a moment before responding, "Because _apparently_ the Headmaster frowns on 'stealing'."

"What exactly happened?"

"I may have – ah – _misplaced_ Gilderoy's hairbrush."

"No – no, he _stole_ it!" cries Lockhart.

"It isn't _stealing_ if you give it _back_," barks Snape, who – at the moment – sounds more like a petulant child than a formidable Potions Master.

"But you cursed it!" protests Lockhart. "You _cursed_ it, and… and... my…"

A few seconds after he trails off, I realize that my face is scrunched up (and very unattractively so, I imagine) in a somewhat uncharacteristic show of confusion. I continue squinting at Lockhart, who is trembling and has apparently lost his capacity to speak (thank god!), for a few seconds before smoothing out my expression and turning back to Snape.

"Professor Snape… since Gilderoy seems to have lost his ability to speak, perhaps you would recount the story for him."

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Very well. From the aggrieved expression on his face, one might assume that I'd buggered his mother, or something equally atrocious. Contrary to his beliefs, however, the 'curse' was hardly hazardous in nature. In fact, it was merely a Pruning Charm – the same charm, I might add, that is often applied to the brushes which are employed to groom dogs. My motives in using this charm were far from malicious. I was trying to _help_."

I fight to suppress an exasperated sigh. I know good and well that Snape would never try to help anyone for _any_ reason. Altruism isn't exactly his strong suit. Still, I don't really see what harm he possibly could have done… "Then _what_ is the problem?"

"The problem, Mrs. Townes, is that charmed brushes of this nature should never be used for – ah – '_over-grooming_'."

"Please clarify," I say brusquely, incapable of masking my impatience.

"Are you _entirely_ dense? That whimpering waste of space has a bloody _hair_ fetish. He, therefore, fussed over his extravagant coiffure to such an absurd extent and brushed his hair so compulsively that the charm on the brush, which was used _incessantly_, caused his precious hair to fall out."

Now it's my turn to indulge in a bit of eye-rolling. "All of it?"

"Yes."

"And _how_ was this a problem? I assume someone grew it back immediately?"

"Your assumption is incorrect, Mrs. Townes. For three days – and, let me assure you, everyone concerned agreed that this phenomenon was _quite_ mysterious – it seemed that every living soul within Hogwarts was incapable of performing the simple spell required to regrow our esteemed colleague's hair. Lamentably, even the Headmaster was unable to aid him."

This is ridiculous. I can't believe I'm listening to this dreck. I've chosen a lousy profession. If it weren't for the fact that Lockhart was so irredeemably smug and useless, I would feel sorry for him. After all – an entire castle conspiring against him? How depressing. Then again, he was probably too stupid to realize what had happened.

"I find that difficult to believe, Professor. Are you saying that even Gilderoy was unable to work the spell?"

"_Brilliant_ wizard that he is," says Snape with a sneer, "he was marginally more successful than his peers. Sadly, however, he found that his finest attempt merely resulted in uncontrollable hair growth from his _eyebrows_."

"I see."

"I believe this situation was especially traumatic for my colleague due to the ghastly number of moles and liver spots, which – though normally concealed by his fervently-groomed locks – were suddenly exposed for all to see."

"It was terrible!" interjects Lockhart. "Simply awful! And you knew it would happen!"

"As flattered as I am with your delusions of my prescience, I—"

"Make him apologize!" shrieks Lockhart, turning back to me.

What a petty, vain little brat! I want to pop him in the forehead. Hell, maybe I will…

No.

No, no. He seems like the type who would _tattle_ on me. And in any case, I need to maintain the _illusion_ of professionalism.

"I can't _make_ him apologize, Gilderoy. This is an issue the two of you will have to work out on your own. Now that you've discussed it openly and expressed your feelings, maybe you'll find it easier to broach the subject in the future."

While Gilderoy sulks over my refusal, Snape makes a point of expressing his disgust by flashing me his finest sneer. Ah, well, there it is. I was wondering when a sneer would be directed at me. It's about time, honestly. I can barely recognize the man when he's not sneering, smirking, or raising a pretentious eyebrow. I suppose he's pretty proud of that sneer. Admittedly, it's flawless. It's like, the _ultimate_ sneer – the apotheosis of sneers. The quintessential model for _all_ sneers performed by the rest of humankind hereafter. Must have taken years to perfect. I wonder if he practices.

Bet he does.

Probably for hours on end. Right in front of a mirror.

Bet his mean, ugly face has cracked _several_ mirrors.

"Maybe there are some other issues the two of you would like to discuss?" I ask, hoping that neither of them will reply.

But Lockhart does. No surprises there.

"Why, yes, as a matter of fact. I wanted to ask you whether it would be possible for Severus and I to make these little joint sessions a routine. As disappointed as I am that he didn't feel the need to apologize for his little _prank_..." Lockhart closes his eyes for a moment, as if attempting to get his emotions under control. "...I really think future sessions could be good for our relationship as co-workers. I think his animosity toward me is mostly based on mutual misunderstandings and—"

Snape sneers at Lockhart hatefully. "You must be absolutely _deranged_ if you think I am going to listen to any more of your insipid babbling in future sessions. I have managed to put up with this today, but I doubt I can stomach it on a regular basis."

"Oh, but Severus," says Lockhart with an air of profound disappointment, "the other teachers will be _so_ upset if our sessions don't continue. The students, too, I'd wager."

"What are you jabbering about?" asks Snape shortly. "No one knows about this."

"Well, of course they do! I informed all the other professors this past Thursday. I suspect quite a few of the students know by now – you know how quickly gossip travels. And I phrased it rather cleverly, if I do say so myself – I told everyone we'd be attending 'couples therapy'."

Oh my god. He didn't! He must be totally suicidal! He has a death wish! Snape is going to kill him. And he might kill me, too. Dammit! I look over at Snape in alarm. I don't think Lockhart's comment has registered yet. Snape is just staring blankly; Lockhart, on the other hand, is grinning broadly and looking _far_ too pleased with himself. I think Snape's in shock. Several seconds have passed, and this information still doesn't seem to have regis—

"WHAT THE _**HELL**_ IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Nevermind.

It finally registered.

"I SHOULD KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!"

"Professor Snape!" I yell frantically. "Please calm down! _Right_ now! Isn't there a better way of handling this? Violence isn't going to accomplish anything! Neither is yelling. On a psychological level, there's no way two people can effectively communicate if either of them are hurling accusations at the other because it automatically triggers a defensive reaction from—"

Scowling, Snape snarls, "Oh, shut up with your insufferable psychobabble bullshi—"

"Language! I don't allow vulgarity of that sort in my office! And find another way to resolve your differences with Gilderoy – yelling is pointless."

Snape raises an eyebrow haughtily. "Very well… I believe you may be right. There _is_ a better way to exact vengeance—"

"No, no! Therapy is not about vengeance!"

"I agree wholeheartedly!" exclaims Lockhart nervously, casting a furtive glance in Snape's direction.

Snape promptly turns to look at him, as if just now remembering that he's in the room. Then he smiles…

…_very_ unpleasantly.

"By the way, my highly-respected colleague. I have something for you. I was saving it for later, of course. I had planned to have your owl deliver it to you at breakfast tomorrow morning, but under the circumstances… I think you deserve it _right_ now."

"Well, Severus!" says Lockhart uncomfortably. "I appreciate the, uh, gesture. May I ask what it is…?"

I jump a little in surprise as Snape abruptly reaches into his robes, pulls out an unidentifiable mass of cloth, and hurls it roughly at Lockhart's face.

"Does _that_ look familiar to you?"

"Wh-what?" begins Lockhart. I notice that he _looks_ as confused as I _feel_.

"Oh, do you not recognize her?" asks Snape with a particularly savage expression on his face. "Well, I suppose I can hardly fault you for your confusion. After all, the _last_ time you laid eyes on that particular animal, it was _alive_."

"Oh god!" squeals Lockhart as he lapses into a pitiable bout of sobbing. And suddenly I realize… it wasn't _cloth_...

"…Professor Snape… what… what _exactly_ did you just throw at Gilderoy…?"

"A rather lifeless pile of fur, Mrs. Townes."

"What—?"

"But to be more specific, it _used_ to be a rabbit."

"How… how could you _do_ that?! How could you just _murder_ someone's pet and… and then _throw_ it at him?!?"

"What would you prefer I'd done with it? _Eaten_ it? What would you have—"

"For starters, I wouldn't have KILLED it!"

"Haven't I asked you not to interrupt me, Mrs. Townes?"

"Good LORD, and how long have you been carrying it around in your POCKET?!"

"About a week."

"Oh! WELL NO WONDER THE DAMN THING SMELLS!"

"And you're surprised by this?" asks Snape, raising both eyebrows.

"Oh, that's SICK – you're sick in the HEAD!"

"I thought it was your job to deal with mentally unbalanced individuals. I can scarcely imagine that a deceased rabbit is the most difficult thing you've ever had to deal—"

"Oh my god, how can you be so blasé about slaughtering a defenseless, innocent animal?! You're a _monster_! Get OUT! Out of my office! BOTH of you! And take that rancid carcass with you!"

"When you say 'rancid carcass,'" says Snape nonchalantly, "are you referring to the _bunny_ or the professor?"

"OUT! All THREE of you!"

"That blithering pile of refuse isn't my problem. Good day to you, Mrs. Townes," he says with an ironic little bow.

He walks briskly to the door, then turns to look at me. And he's sneering AGAIN. But it isn't just a normal sneer – it's so exaggerated that it looks like he's baring his teeth at me. Is he going to _bite_ me?

"Stop it!" I yell.

SNEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!

"STOP THAT!"

But he won't stop. He sneers at me for a full 15 minutes – without moving, without blinking, and (probably) without breathing. The sneer never lets up. It's like it's glued to his face.

He finally stops when the security guards show up.

Well, actually, that's not _entirely_ true. No, no. That would have been too easy.

When they first ask him to leave, he completely ignores them. He just keeps sneering. When the guards take his arm and tug at it lightly, he makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat – and KEEPS SNEERING. When they try to forcibly remove him, he grabs hold of the doorframe and refuses to be dragged from the room. It ultimately takes the guards about 10 minutes to remove him from my office. They have to call for _reinforcements_! And he sneers the whole damn time – in fact, if anything, the sneer becomes more and more ferocious as the minutes pass.

But finally, they manage to drag him outside and down the steps. They take Lockhart too, but they forget to pick up the butchered rabbit. I stare at it in shock for a couple of minutes and decide to call the maintenance crew. Scraping dead rabbits off the sofa isn't in my job description.

I walk to the window and look down. And there he is – handcuffed and standing in the middle of the road three floors below me, gazing upward and…

SNEERING!

_Still_ sneering in my direction! Realizing that he can still see me in the window, I quickly shut the blinds and back away.

Oh. My. GOD.

Fridays. Are. Awful.

I'm going to write a letter to Dumbledore immediately! He's paying for my sofa! There's no way that stain is going to come out by _any_ means – magical or otherwise! And even if the stain did come out, I _still_ wouldn't be able to look at the sofa without cringing.

Jesus _Christ_! But before I begin my letter…

…Where's my bottle of Firewhiskey…?

* * *

Wow, that was a bit disturbing, actually… Oh well. Snape's crazy as hell. Didn't one of my reviewers suggest that I make him crazier? And the bit about Snape practicing his sneer in front of a mirror was for Inu-midoriko. She knows what I'm talking about! ;) 

**Anyway, gracias for reading, and please, please, pretty please give me reviews! Again, I'll be continuing this story as long as someone reads it, but since I don't have as much time on my hands as I'd like, I probably won't bother unless I know somebody's still enjoying it.**


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